


Malfoy's Christmas Carol

by NeverNik



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Comedy, Drama, F/M, Ghosts, Happy Ending, Minor Character Death, Redemption, References to A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-18 16:43:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16998732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverNik/pseuds/NeverNik
Summary: A Dramione Christmas Carol: legendary rich and foul-tempered Draco Malfoy gets richer and fouler every year. Especially around Christmas. Why is he so foul? And rich? Why doesn't he care that everyone fears and loathes him? It's up to three magical Christmas spirits to sort it out.Written for Strictly Dramione's Yuletide Magic 2018 Fest.E for bad language and sex scenes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Christmas Eve**

**Malfoy Enterprises**

‘Bah! Humbugs!’

Draco Malfoy, CEO of Malfoy Enterprises, spat the offending sweet out. It arced through the air and landed on his office floor, where it rolled to a sticky stop by his desk.

‘Who the hell put humbugs in my sweetie jar?’ he roared at his hapless Administrative Assistant, who was cowering behind his many files and parchments. ‘I hate humbugs!’

‘S-sorry, sir, I’ll swap them out for Nougat Chunks right away,’ Ron Weasley stuttered, using his files like a shield.

‘See that you do.’ Draco strode around his massive desk to his chair, sat upon it regally and folded his hands on top of the spotless desktop. He then held out one of those hands, and Ron placed a rolled parchment on it. Draco spread the parchment out on top of his desk, picked up a wizarding magnifying glass, and scrutinised the figures.

After a few minutes, he realised that Ron was still in his office. Draco rolled his eyes and sighed.

‘You’re dismissed, Weasley. You don’t have to wait for me to tell you.’

‘Yes sir, thank you sir. Except – um, the office staff wanted to know if it was okay if they, er, went home a little early this evening?’ Ron’s stammering question was most aptly accompanied by his knocking knees.

‘Leave early?’ Draco blustered. The very nerve! ‘Isn’t it enough that I give you people jobs and pay you a salary?’ he snapped. ‘Now you want time off?’

‘Yes sir, we’re very grateful for being employed, sir, but we do so very much hope you’ll grant one hour off for us on this special day.’

Draco was already bored with the conversation. Nose to the parchment, he muttered ‘What’s so special about this day?’

‘It – it’s Christmas Eve, sir. Didn’t you get the memo from Human and Creature Resources?’

Draco sighed and rubbed his face with his free hand. Why the Wizarding world goes all doollally about a Muggle religious celebration was beyond him. But at least it made for good retail sales. Almost made up for the fact that none of his shops could open on Christmas Day, damn them all to hell.

‘All right, fine. You may all leave one hour early.’

Ron leapt for joy. ‘Oh, thank you, kind and benevolent sir!’ he gushed.

Draco, feeling uncomfortable at this revolting display of positivity, waved his hand at the exit. ‘Go!’ he ordered. ‘And I don’t want to be disturbed for the rest of the evening!’

‘Yes, sir!’ And Ron skedaddled, desperate to get the news out to his colleagues before old Misery-Arse could change his mind.

 

*****

 

Draco worked long into the evening in his cavernous office, counting numbers, screwing up his face and thinking about how to make more money so that he could have more numbers to count.

Eventually, with a crick in his neck, he stood up and summoned his cloak. Time to head home to Malfoy Manor, where he rattled around the rooms like a pinball – all empty and echoey since his father and mother passed away.

And then _she_ left him.

Taking his heart and soul with her.

Hardening his jaw, he opened his office door, only to discover that someone had stuck a memo to the other side. Irritated, he ripped it off the door and glanced at it.

 _Dear sir,_ it started in Ron’s nearly illegible scrawl:

_Just as we were leaving, a tall chap dressed in a black cloak and carrying a gardening implement, for some reason, stopped by. We initially thought he was trying to get a refund for his garden tool, but it turned out he wanted to speak to you. But since you gave orders not to be disturbed, I insisted that he leave a message instead._

_He said to tell you that tonight you’ll be visited by three ghosts, representing the spirits of Christmas Past, Present and Yet to Come. And that if you don’t change your horrid, miserly ways, you’ll regret it. He sounded a bit barmy, if you ask me. Not sure someone so crackers should be wandering the streets carrying a sharp garden tool. But there you go. It’s probably a load of cobblers, but he was very insistent that you get the message._

_Merry Christmas, sir!_

_Ron Weasley, your Administrative Assistant._

Rolling his eyes, Draco crumpled up the note and shoved it in his pocket.

He was surrounded by idiots.

 

 ***** 

 

**Malfoy Manor**

Draco’s footsteps echoed on the cold marble as he stepped out of Malfoy Manor’s Floo. On cue, Sprigg, his unfathomably-aged house elf, popped into view, holding a silver tray, on which a healthy snifter of Firewhisky sat. Draco silently swapped his cloak for the drink and headed through the dimly-lit lobby to his study, which was illuminated only by the fire in the stark room’s massive fireplace.

He slumped into his austere green wingback chair, knocked the Firewhisky back in one go and stared at the flames.

Occasionally, the ancient retainer tried to tempt him with some food, despite knowing it was futile. The only time Draco would speak or move was to require more Firewhisky or drink more Firewhisky.

As Sprigg said goodnight to his taciturn master, he popped sadly back to his quarters, rueing - for the millionth time - the day when the last shred of light in the young man’s soul was extinguished forever.

The day Madame Hermione left.

 

*****

 

**Later that night**

Like most late evenings when he sought answers at the bottom of a Firewhisky bottle, he didn’t remember how he got to bed. But he was certainly nude and horizontal when he slowly became aware of another nude and horizontal body lying next to his. Soft, warm, and possessing breasts.

His eyes flew open. That shouldn’t be.

Not a single woman had dared to darken his boudoir in all the time since Hermione...

He turned his head and yelped when he encountered the sleepy, silvery eyes of a beautiful, wraith-like woman who'd stretched herself across most of his torso, a hip, thigh and rapidly-becoming-interested cock.

‘Hello,’ she smiled. She snuggled into him, her thigh massaging life into a much-unwanted erection.

Draco sat up, dislodging the blonde-haired interloper so that she sprawled daintily across his bed. ‘Who the fucking hell are you??’ he gasped.

But even as those words left his mouth, slow recognition took hold. ‘Hang on, you’re that daft girl that went to Hogwarts, right? Looney Someone?’

She smiled and held out her hand. ‘I go by Luna, these days,’ she said. ‘Do people still call you Draco?’

He blinked. People called him 'Sir,' 'Malfoy' and 'Master.' He hadn’t heard the name ‘Draco’ in some time.

Dazedly, he shook her hand before realizing how ridiculous it was that he was shaking hands with a naked alumnus in his bed.

‘Luna,’ he said in a voice he reserved for the spectacularly dumb, ‘why are you in my bed, naked? Not to mention how did you get into my manor?’

‘Oh,’ she said, faintly surprised and not the slightest bit worried about the gorgeous expanse of flesh she had on full display, ‘I was told you’d received the memo.’

‘Memo?’ Draco repeated, clutching his hair.

‘Yes! Derek, our oracle, said he dictated one to your Administrative Assistant earlier this evening to let you know we’d be visiting. I’m the Spirit of Christmas Past.’

Draco was starting to feel like he was having an out-of-body experience. Also, he was trying to ignore a most inconveniently-burgeoning erection. Luna, on the other hand, was keeping a keen eye on it.

‘Derek... the bloke with the cloak and sharp garden tool?’ he asked.

‘The very one!’ Luna beamed. ‘Oh, he does so love his scythe. Takes it everywhere.’

Draco peered closer at Luna and gave her arm an experimental prod with a finger. She seemed corporeal enough. ‘You can’t be a spirit,’ he said flatly. ‘Your body has, er, substance.’

‘Thank you,’ Luna blushed. ‘I do try to work out. It’s hard to find the time, though. Who knew you’d be so busy when you’re dead?’

‘Yes, well, one has to make time,’ Draco lectured before running Luna’s last sentence through his head again. ‘Y-you’re dead?’ he yelped.

‘Uh-huh,’ she replied absent-mindedly. She was still watching the Draco’s cock increase in size, an unfortunate side-effect of the nearness of naked boobs. ‘At least a year ago now. My house collapsed.’

Draco raked his mind, searching for any ounce of recognition that this information wrought. But to be honest, he only ever read financial broadsheets these days.

‘Well,’ he started, trying to think of something appropriate to say, ‘you look good.’

‘Really?’ Luna’s eyes lit up.

‘Argh! Get off me, woman!’ Draco nimbly leapt out of the way of Luna’s gymnastic pounce, designed to land smack dab on top of his traitorous cock.

Luna retreated to the other side of the bed to lick her metaphorical wounds.

‘Well, if you’re the Spirit of Christmas Past, why are you in my bed?’ Draco demanded.

‘Well, you looked so nice and warm in your bed, I thought I’d grab a quick kip before we set off on your intrepid journey of painful self-discovery and misery.’ She pouted. ‘I’ve been haunting people all day, you know! Not everyone dances to your merry tune, you know.’

Draco had nothing to say to that.

‘Well,’ she sighed, looking at an imaginary watch on her wrist, ‘might as well get it over with. Take my hand.’

‘Wait!’ Draco yelped. ‘Don’t I get to put some clothes on, at least?’

‘Why?’ Luna asked, confused. ‘No-one’s going to see you. Except me. And I've seen it.’ She craned her neck to get a better look at his arse.

Draco thought that would have been ample reason enough, but Luna did not tarry, and took a firm grip of his hand. Without a word of warning, the eerily similar-looking couple wafted up to the ceiling of his bedroom. They passed though the ceiling as if it was nothing but candy-floss, popped out of the manor’s roof, and soared into the dark, chilly night.

Well, thought a terrified Draco, as he held onto Luna’s hand with a death grip. That took care of the erection.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to Luna’s warming charm, Draco didn’t spend his mile-high sojourn above the Wizarding world freezing his bollocks off. In fact, once the shock wore off, it felt much like a broom ride – aside from the fact that he and Luna could barrel through solid objects as if they weren’t even there.

He was so caught up in the wonder of a wintry wizard wonderland that he hardly noticed that Luna had basically flown him in an enormous circle until the pair melted through the roof and floors of a building, and he found himself standing in the marble lobby of...

... his own manor.

‘What the everlasting FUCK?’ Draco roared at the diminutive spirit, who was studying her fingernails. ‘What on earth was the point of that sub-zero tiki-tour[1] if all we had to do was walk down a couple of flights of steps in my own bloody manor?’

Luna scowled at him mildly (mild scowling was the most ferocious expression she could pull). ‘Put a cork in it, Malfoy,’ she sighed, ‘and come with me.’

Seething, Draco stomped after Luna (not that his feet made any sound) as she floated down the hallway to the Manor’s massive ballroom, which Draco had closed off when he realised there weren’t going to be any balls, parties, soirées or even networking meet-and-greets anymore. Grizzling, he followed her waving hair and admirably perky bottom as she reached the locked doors and opened them with a swish of her arms.

Instead of inky blackness, as Draco expected, the room was filled with warm candlelight. A gigantic Christmas tree (only slightly smaller than the Hogwarts one, but we won’t mention that) stood proudly in the centre of room, looking scrumptious in the light of the cheerful fires in the massive fireplaces that flanked each end of the room. Boughs and garlands of holly, fir and mistletoe wrought their way along the walls and draped themselves liberally over the fireplace mantels. Surrounding the tree were hundreds of gaudily-wrapped presents, and surrounding the presents were a laughing Draco, wife Hermione and Narcissa, drinking either wine, Firewhisky or eggnog. Lucius was also present, but he was just smiling.

You can’t get blood from a stone.

‘Do you know what date this is?’ Luna asked the naked, ashen Draco.

‘Christmas Eve. Three years ago. I married Hermione earlier that year.’ Draco’s voice was a whisper.

Finding it all too much to take in, he whirled around and headed to the ballroom doors – only to discover, most inconveniently, that he couldn’t float through.

Rubbing his sore head, cradling his tender loins and rubbing his stubbed toes on the back of the calf of his other leg, he hobbled around and snarled ‘Now I’m corporeal? NOW?’

Luna looked at him sadly, in a dreamy sort of way. ‘You can’t run away from your past, Draco. Not tonight.’

Draco tried the door handles, but they were fused in place. He was prepared to bet all the windows and French doors that led onto the terrace were just facsimiles of the real thing. No wand to cast spells, or in desperation, shove through his ear and pierce his brain. So instead, he let out an enormous sigh, and watched the happy family laugh and love and live.

‘What happened shortly after this night, Draco?’ Luna asked.

Draco ground his teeth. ‘There was an accident,’ he replied shortly. ‘My parents... they were killed.’

He watched Narcissa and Lucius dance together to a long-forgotten tune, looking into each other’s eyes. His cheeks felt wet. Angrily, he brushed the tears away.

‘And then what happened?’

‘I took over Malfoy Enterprises.’

‘What did your wife do?’

Silence.

Luna took his hand and whisked them to one of the Manor’s wings, to a bedroom where a furiously tearful Hermione remonstrated with a man whose emotions might as well be entombed in the mausoleum with his parents.  

Watching himself break his wife’s heart, Draco’s own heart clenched and his stomach churned. He didn’t want to be here.

‘This is nearly a year later,’ Luna said. ‘What are you fighting about?’

‘She said I dedicated my whole life to Malfoy Enterprises,’ Draco mumbled. ‘That she hardly saw me anymore. And on the few occasions I was home before she went to bed, I was surly and non-communicative. That she couldn’t remember the last time I touched her’ –

Suddenly, what felt like an enormous chocolate frog had wedged itself in Draco’s throat. He could no more talk than he could fly to the moon.

The hurt, the bewilderment on his wife’s beautiful face.

It was more than he could bear.

‘She left me,’ he croaked, with difficulty. ‘Said if I wanted to spend all my time at Malfoy Enterprises, then I could. She packed her trunk, and walked away from our marriage. From me.’

From a selfish, dried husk of a man who was too proud to admit he’d made a terrible mistake.

‘Luna,’ he whispered. ‘I can’t bear any more of this. Take me away. Please.’

Sadly, Luna took his hand, and they soared into the star-lit night.

 

[1] New Zealand slang for a sight-seeing journey with no particular destination in mind. The author has no idea why Draco would know such a word.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: non-Dramione lemon, of a sort

‘ARGH!’

Wild-eyed, Draco lurched upright in his bed, gasping for breath, his heart pounding, and sweat coming off his body in rivulets. Merlin’s marshmallows, what a hideous, horrible dream!

Sprigg popped into view, wearing a long nightshirt and pompom-ed night cap. ‘Master, what’s the matter?’ gasped, clutching a candleholder with a lit candle and looking eerily like that grouchy chap Ebenezer Scrooge in the story ‘A Christmas Carol,’ by the Muggle Dickens.

Draco took some deep breaths and tried to calm himself. ‘Oh, nothing, Sprigg,’ he said wearily. ‘Just had a bad dream.’

‘Oh dear,’ Sprigg tutted. ‘I know something that will keep those at bay, Master Draco. Won’t be a jiff!’

He popped off, and true to his word, promptly reappeared carrying a tray, upon which sat a snifter of cinnamon brandy. ‘Guaranteed to make you forget everything,’ he assured his exhausted master.

‘Ta, Sprigg.’ Draco downed the spicy alcohol in one go (that was pretty much how he drank everything, these days) and laid back down in his bed.

Supressing the urge to hover worriedly over his master, Sprigg bowed and disappeared with the empty glass.

Surrounded by thick blackness once more, Draco lay on his back. But he wasn’t comfortable. He turned on one side, but that wasn’t comfortable, either. So he turned on his other side and decided that it was the best of the worst, closed his eyes and let the brandy work its magic.

Salazar’s sandwiches, what a dream, indeed.

 

*****

 

Part of Draco’s subconscious was having a lovely dream. Another part of his subconscious was pointing out to him that he was having a lovely dream.

A rather naughty lovely dream, if one must be honest.

A woman had engulfed his hard erection with her mouth, feeding his inches past her warm, wet tongue and into her throat. He slid in and out with ease. Occasionally, she’d wank him with a wet hand, stroking up and down, while a keen tongue would pull one, then the other testicle, into her mouth, swirling it around. Gods, it felt good, so damn good. He hadn’t had a blowjob since Hermione surprised him that Christmas Eve morning, when everyone was alive and happy...

He didn’t want the dream to end.

Her mouth was back, sucking the top half of his cock hard. It felt so good, but he wanted to feel her mouth and throat take him all.

Half asleep, his hand wandered and found the woman’s head. Gently, he pushed her head down, and she eagerly acquiesced.

Oh, Merlin...

He was pretty sure he was gonna come. Any moment now...

She bottomed out at the root of his erection, and his eyes rolled into the back of his  -

Hang on.

His hand touched a woman’s head.

His actual hand touched an actual woman’s head.

There’s a woman in his bed.

There’s a woman in his bed!

He whipped the sheets away, and there, with his cock shoved impressively far into her throat, was a nude Luna bloody Lovegood. In her strange corporeal spirt form. Again.

She must have noticed that the sheet was no longer covering them, and that the owner of the considerably-sized erection filling out her cheeks was glaring at her in apoplectic rage. She carefully pulled his cock out of her mouth and sat up, wiping her mouth and looking innocent.

‘Why?’ Draco snapped, arms crossed.

Luna pondered. ‘Why am I here? Or why was I sucking your cock?’

Both were excellent questions. However... ‘Why were you sucking my cock?’ he snarled.

Luna cast a regretful glance at Draco’s manhood, which was now starting to wither. ‘Well, when I came back again, you had a stiffy, and I always feel that it’s a shame to let things go to waste.’

Draco rubbed his hands over his tired face. ‘You don’t have the right to fellate a bloke without permission!’ he ground out. ‘Dead, alive, makes no difference.’

‘You were enjoying it,’ she pointed out.

Oh, yeah. The enjoyability of the event cannot be denied. Even now, Draco Jr suddenly reversed his withering and began filling out again in fleshy form. Luna stared at it, spellbound.

‘You have an awfully nice cock,’ she marvelled. ‘So big, and it doesn’t curve off in odd directions. So many of them do,’ she said a little sadly.

Draco could relate. All those years in the Slytherin dorms at Hogwarts made for some interesting observations.

‘Sure you don’t want me to finish you off?’ Luna purred.

Draco couldn’t deny that he was tempted. Just look at Draco Jr. But supreme irritation won out over lust.

‘As to the second question,’ he grumped, pulling the bedsheets over his lower half, ‘why are you back again? Did you forget something?’

Luna sighed. ‘The Spirit of Christmas Present double-booked himself, the idiot, and because it’s Christmas Eve, everyone is flat-out busy with their own hauntings, so I’m pulling a double shift.’ She glared at him. ‘Quite frankly, the thought of seeing your cock again is the only reason I’m here.’

Draco tried not to feel hurt at that comment.  Rejected in favour of his cock, indeed.

‘All right then,’ he said on an almighty sigh, and flung the sheet back.

Luna clapped her hands in delight and licked her lips.

But Draco followed through with a leap out of bed, narrowly avoiding Luna’s grasping hand. Facing her with his hands on his nude hips, he said ‘Come on, get on with it! Take me to the magical wonderland that is Christmas Present.’

Luna sulked and climbed out of bed. ‘There’s no need for sarcasm,’ she muttered, and took his hand.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: sad scene, but no deaths

For most people, it would be an utter nightmare if you came to work in your birthday suit, and everyone knew except you. Now Draco got to live that particular nightmare out, in a way, as he and Luna came in to land in the large, open-plan office that constituted the Administration floor of Malfoy Enterprises. His officelurked menacingly at the far end.

He saw Weasley, front and centre, standing around in a group of office workers, chatting, laughing, looking as though they didn’t have a care in the world. And also, Draco noted darkly, not doing any bloody work. He recognised the robes Weasley wore as the ones he wore today. There was a tea stain on them already.

Weasley had one eye on the office entrance, and when he heard the sound of the Floo whisking someone into the building, his demeanour changed from easy-going jokester to panicked librarian. ‘He’s here! Shush everyone, Malfoy’s here!’

And as if someone had dumped a large, cold bucket of water on the staff members, they scrambled like mad to their desks, writing memos, summoning owls and looking very business-like.

Observer Draco felt rather pleased at this immense display of efficiency. Watching himself as he strode through the office, he approved of their deferential stance with their eyes to the ground.

But then he saw each and every worker look at his retreating back with malice and resentment in their eyes.

The office atmosphere wasn’t business-like. It palpitated with churlish malevolence.

Goosebumps formed on his skin.  Every bit of it.

‘Do you know your workers’ names?’ Luna asked.

‘Of course!’ Draco spluttered. ‘There’s Weasley, of course, and there’s... um... Vera? I’m sure one of them’s a Vera. And... um... Mike?’

Luna looked at him with pity. He could practically see her thinking ‘Stupid twat doesn’t even know the names of his employees.’

Instead, she said ‘They don’t seem to like you very much.’

‘Well,’ Draco blustered, ‘I’m not paying them to like me! I’m not here to be liked! I’m here to run a business, and they’re here to get paid for helping me run the damn business!’

Luna ignored him. ‘They don’t seem very happy, either.’

Glaring, Draco had another look around. He saw lots of clenched jaws and sad, mopey eyes. Aside from the people who burned with resentment, the remainder gave off an almost palpable stink of depression.

So, Luna was right. Big deal. He paid them, didn’t he? He tried to recall the last time he gave everyone a pay rise, even if it was only to adjust for inflation, and...

His pale cheeks burned. He couldn’t remember.

‘Is this it?’ Draco snapped. ‘I get to stare at a bunch of sad sacks that I already see five damn days a week?’

Luna arched a delicate eyebrow. ‘You seem a little upset, Draco,’ she said. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

Draco’s face turned purple.

‘Anyway, to answer your question,’ Luna continued, ‘we do, in fact, have somewhere else to go. Take my hand.’

As the pair dematerialised out of the building, Draco entertained himself with all the ways he could make his employees’ working days worse. Charge admission to the toilets, perhaps?

 

*****

 

The place Luna took them too had Draco’s skin crawling. It was a kitchen, he was fairly sure, but it was crammed with... with... crap! And – and wood!

It was everywhere. Wooden walls, wooden furniture, warped wooden beams holding up a _very_ low ceiling. The table looked to be just a bunch of planks of wood slapped together. Every surface had something on it. Usually lots of somethings. And nothing matched! Every chair surrounding the table was in no way related to its neighbour, and even the windows were different – leadlight here, stained glass there, plain in the middle. And even though it was dark and snowing outside, he could plainly see what the windows looked like because there were no curtains.

Draco had never set foot in a place that didn’t even have the decency of drapery.

And on top of that, it was also crammed with.... people! Hordes of people shoe-horned in this ridiculous excuse of a kitchen!

But even though Draco’s fine sense of interior decoration was getting a thorough spanking, the expressions on their mostly ginger-haired faces didn’t escape his notice. They were smiling. Laughing. Talking animatedly. Eating, and asking for seconds. Little children ran around the table, getting underfoot.

A nice, roaring fire made the scene chaotic and... cosy.

Draco peered closer at one of the men. ‘Hey! That’s Weasley!’

Luna nodded. ‘This is the Weasley household, earlier this evening. Listen to what they’re saying.’

One young man, whose mirror image sat next to him, said ‘You got home early tonight, Ron! Did you finally escape the clutches of that miserly old bastard, Malfoy?’

Draco gave him the finger.

‘He’s not old, Fred,’ Ron reminded him, helping a child sitting next to him cut his food. ‘He’s younger than you.’

A red-haired, matronly type of woman sailed past Fred, rapping his knuckles with a wooden spoon. ‘No swearing while the young’ns are about,’ she sang.

‘Sorry Mum,’ muttered Fred, rubbing his hand.

‘Ah! There she is!’ Ron cheered, standing up as a well-breasted blonde woman came carefully down the stairs, cradling an infant. ‘How’s the little petal, then?’

Lavender, Ron’s wife, sat at the end of the table, pasting a brittle half-smile over her doleful features. ‘She’s not eating very much at all,’ she confessed. Then she bit her lip. ‘She’s losing weight, Ron.’

Ron’s face dropped and he fell silent, as did the other adults at the table. Mrs Weasley (Molly) squeezed Lavender’s shoulders. ‘I’ll warm up a bottle, love,’ she said encouragingly. ‘If she’s hungry, she’ll surely take to it this time.’

‘I hope so,’ Lavender whispered, soothing the forehead of her weak but fretting baby.

‘What’s wrong with the baby?’ Draco demanded of Luna angrily. ‘Why won’t it feed?’

Luna ignored his accusatory tone. ‘She gets a dreadful tummy ache when she feeds,’ she replied. ‘She can’t keep her mother’s milk down, and she’s had no success with the bottle. She needs to see a paediatric Healer, a special one, but they can’t afford the Healer’s fee or treatment costs.’

Draco’s mouth fell open. Fancy being so poor that you couldn’t afford medical care for your child.

‘What will happen if she doesn’t see the Healer?’

Luna’s silver eyes met his. They were diamond-hard. ‘Then she dies, Draco,’ she snapped. ‘She leaves her parents behind with nothing but a body to bury in the ground, and a lifetime’s worth of grief and regret.’

Ashen-faced and silent, Draco watched as first Lavender, then Molly, tried to coax the wee thing to take some milk – only to watch the poor, tormented babe turn her head away and weakly cry.

The warm kitchen was quiet, save for Lavender and Molly’s quiet, coaxing voices. Even the children were silent. Draco watched Ron scrub a tear from his face. Only for it to be replaced by another.

Draco locked onto Luna’s hand. ‘Take me away, for the love of Merlin,’ he croaked. ‘Now!’

Luna nodded. And they disappeared.


	5. Chapter 5

‘Oh gods, where are we now?’ Draco wailed as they landed in the corridor of an apartment building. ‘I get it, all right? People don’t like me! People are worse off than me! Do I really need to see more suffering tonight?’

‘I didn’t draw up the schedule,’ Luna sighed. ‘I had to take over at short notice! I don’t even know where we are, right now.’

Draco threw up his hands. ‘Oh, wonderful!’ he snapped. ‘This is all I need.’

Luna suppressed the urge to kick the handsome arsehole right up his – well, arse. ‘Look, I see some people up ahead!’ she said with as much encouragement as she could muster. Without waiting for him to complain, she grabbed Draco’s arm and pranced down the corridor.

Suddenly, Draco dug in his incorporeal heels and agitatedly tried to prise Luna’s fingers from his arm. ‘No! No, no, no, no, no!’ he hissed desperately. ‘We can’t go here! I refuse to allow it! Luna, are you even listening to me?’

‘Oh, look, it’s Hermione!’ she cried out, ignoring him. ‘Ooh, doesn’t she look lovely, Draco? Draco? Where are you?’

He wasn’t far. He was cowering behind Luna’s lithe body.

Luna rolled her eyes and prayed to Rowena Ravenclaw for the strength to get through this night without strangling the infuriating sonofabitch. Then she made a mental note to apologise to Narcissa Malfoy, should they cross paths back home.

‘She can’t see you, you know.’

‘I know that!’ Draco snapped. ‘I don’t want to see her!’

Luna pretended to be really dumb. ‘But she’s your wife!’ she said with round eyes.

Yes, interestingly. They’d been separated nearly a couple of years, with zero communication between them, but Hermione had never started divorce proceedings. And Draco certainly hadn’t. Malfoys do not divorce.

But here she was, up close and personal with a man who wasn’t her husband.

And she didn’t seem to be liking it any more than Draco did.

‘Look, Cormac,’ Hermione said wearily with her back to her door, ‘we had a nice night. Let’s not ruin it with a fight.’

Cormac leered over her, putting a hand by her head. ‘But we’re not fighting, are we, sweetheart? All I’m asking is to come inside for a coffee, that’s all. What could be wrong with that?’

Hermione, Draco and Luna all rolled their eyes.

‘Listen,’ Hermione said, her patience starting to wearing thin. ‘I’ve given in to your many, many requests and gone out with you. You’re a nice man, a very nice man, but I’m not interested in a relationship with you. So you can’t come in. Goodbye.’

Cormac’s hand slammed angrily into the door, making Hermione jump. ‘That was a very expensive restaurant I took you to,’ he growled.

‘And I offered to pay my share, but you said no!’

‘Of course I said no!’ Was this woman thick, or what? ‘That’s not how it goes! I pay for the grub; you spread your legs. It’s been like that since the dawn of time!’

Hermione’s hair started to crackle.

Every bloke around here wants to fuck you,’ he snarled. ‘We reckoned you thought you were too good for the likes of us! We're not as rich as Malfoy, that's for sure!’ He bent down and put his face up close to hers. She tried not to inhale his horrid breath. ‘But I think we’ve got it all wrong, you see,’ he continued. ‘I know what your problem is. You haven’t had a good shag in ages, if ever. You've forgotten how! You’re frigid, love!’

He grabbed her hand and forced it over his clothed erection.

‘You owe me a decent shag,’ he snarled into her white face. ‘So open up that door and brace yourself!’

He ground his hips into hers – then he saw stars.

 

*****

 

Luna tried to restrain Draco from leaping on top of Cormac and beating him to a pulp. ‘You can’t touch him!’ she panted. ‘Anyway, we can’t interfere in present events!’

Draco opened his mouth to yell and swear and carry on – but it turned out, he wasn’t needed. Hermione gripped her hands together into a fist, tucking in her thumbs, and whacked Cormac with an uppercut that knocked his head back so hard his teeth sliced and diced a few shreds off his tongue. As he stepped back, she followed up with a hard knee to his dingly-danglies, and sealed the deal with an _Arresto Momentum_. She was inside her apartment with all the locks bolted and anti-intruder wards erected before he hit the ground.

Luna followed her through the door, but doubled back when she discovered Draco wasn’t behind her.

‘Oh now, really, is that absolutely necessary?’ she said crossly.

Draco was jumping up and down on Cormac’s crown jewels. Merely a symbolic action, since Cormac couldn’t see or feel him. But as for Draco –

‘Yes, it was rather,’ he replied snottily, with his nose up in the air.

Luna muttered another prayer and dragged him inside his wife’s apartment.  

 

*****

 

After Luna warned him about the dire consequences that would befall him if he a) did not stay put, b) moved a single muscle or c) said a _bloody_ word, Draco sulked in the corner of Hermione’s book-filled apartment and watched.

Therefore, it was interesting to observe the mighty orange fluffball that was Crookshanks stride right up to where Draco stood, sniff his feet, and growl himself into an almighty hiss.

‘Crooks, don’t be silly,’ Hermione said wearily, removing her cloak and winter coverings.

Crooks stopped hissing, but camped out by Draco’s toes, his tail swishing with menace. Or hunger.

Draco ignored him and looked around the apartment. There were sofas, a coffee table, a small dining suite in a corner, pot plants, a Floo – and mountains upon mountains of books.

There was something missing, though. He tapped his finger on his lip, searching – and then he had it.

No Christmas tree. No Christmas ornamentation of any kind, in fact.

Hermione was down to the winter dress she wore on her date with Cormac: a long-sleeved, blood-red fitted dress with a cowl neck that inched towards her shoulders, threatening to lay them bare.

She looked gorgeous.

And sad.

A lump grew in Draco's throat.

Almost reluctantly, she walked to a shelf and picked up a silver frame that had been laid flat on its face. She looked at it for a long time. When a tear splashed onto the frame, she wiped her cheek angrily and slapped the frame back on the shelf, face down.

She strode from the room. Water was heard running somewhere in the back of the apartment.

Draco wafted over to the picture frame, overcome by both curiosity and dread. He tried to pick it up, but his hand just swished through.

Frustrated, he turned to Luna. ‘Can you let me see what’s in the picture?’ he demanded, before softening it with a ‘please?’

Luna looked cautiously in the direction of the running water, then raised her arm. The picture frame slowly sat up on the shelf, and Draco saw what Hermione had looked at for all that time.

It was their wedding photo.

Draco reeled back.

Was there... still a chance, after all this time?

‘It’s time to go,’ Luna whispered.

‘Yeah... sure,’ Draco replied, looking longingly down the hallway, even as Luna was guiding him out of the door.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger (and plot giveaway): infant death

Bed.

That was where Draco was again.

And, once more, something was not quite kosher with his surroundings.

He was bloody _freezing._

Did that ridiculous ghost/woman leave the bedroom windows open?

‘Luna, for gods’ sakes...’ he groaned, rolled over and, eyes closed, felt around for her body so he could prod her into window-closing action.

But Luna wasn’t in the bed.

Feeling oddly bereft, Draco opened his eyes, cast a _Lumos_ and sat up.

Someone else was in the room.

But instead of Luna, the creature he found standing in his bedroom nearly frightened the willies out of him.

It was a tall wizard or Muggleborn, he supposed, a jolly tall one – well over seven feet. He couldn’t tell what it was because it was shrouded in an inky-black cloak, the hood of which was pulled up so as to obscure its face. And – most disturbingly of all – it was carrying a humungous scythe.

Draco rubbed his eyes. ‘Derek?’ he asked, semi-hopefully.

The creature didn't say a word.

Draco found himself thinking nostalgically of Luna and her odd chit-chat. This... _thing_ had bad vibes and frigid coldness seeping out of every pore. 

‘The, er, Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come?’ Draco asked belatedly.

The _thing_ unfolded an arm from within its robes and held it out to Draco, and he reacted in a most undignified and un-Malfoy-like manner, I must say.

Still, if an ominous creature standing in your bedroom offers you to take its enormous, _skeletal_ hand, you’d probably shriek and pull the bedsheets over your eyes, too.

But one cannot live under bedsheets forever, so Draco eventually peeped over them to confirm that the _thing_ was still standing in his bedroom, still clutching a scythe in one gloved hand, and still holding out his ungloved bony appendage towards him.

Slytherin’s sherbet, Draco thought gloomily. He won’t bloody leave unless I go with him.

So out he crawled from his lovely warm bed, inched towards Derek (it didn’t _deny_ it was Derek, Draco figured) and shakily put his hand in the horrid, cold collection of bones that passed for Derek’s hand.

Something tells me I’m not going to enjoy this experience, Draco thought.

 

*****

 

Sure enough, they were back at Malfoy Enterprises. To be specific, they were outside Malfoy Enterprises. They couldn’t get in.

His lovely, busy office building, which he’d spent half his life in, was boarded up. Lifeless. It was dirty, ageing and uncared for. A wonky sign stood outside that said ‘Foreclosure. Building and contents for sale. Bargain basement rates! Apply to ....’

Draco clutched his heart. He was certain his left arm was beginning to tingle. ‘What the hell is going on here?’ he gasped to Derek, who was doing an excellent impression of a brick wall.

‘What year is it?’ Draco demanded.

Silence.

‘What happened to me?!’

Yet more silence.

‘Look,’ Draco said, getting rather annoyed, ‘I have nothing against you whatsoever, but I’m finding it a tad difficult to communicate with you. And as much as it pains me to say it, I’d really appreciate it if you could nip back to... wherever you lot ‘live,’ (marked by sarcastic air quote fingers) and get Luna for me, all right?’

Nothing.

‘Please?’ he begged. Dear gods, he hoped Lucius wasn't hovering nearby to see this.

Nothing.

‘I’ll upgrade your scythe!’

Derek’s hood moved fractionally; then returned from whence it came.

Draco’s shoulders slumped.

They slumped even more when Derek held his (literally) bony hand out.

 

*****

 

Derek and Draco materialised in the Weasley’s kitchen. Except this time, it was empty. Not a soul was around. Something heavy and oppressive lingered in the air.

Dread marched into Draco’s ribcage and circled his heart.

Derek’s hood turned to one of the windows, where some moving shapes could be seen. Some people were outside.

Draco and Derek ghosted through the house’s walls and wafted over the large garden, until they came to a fenced-off corner...

.... that held a sparse handful of gravestones.

Wordlessly, Draco made his way to the front of the knot of weeping people.

He knew what he would find.

But something inside him forced him to see it for himself...

A tiny mound of bare earth, yet untouched by snow. Ron tamped it down, his face white. Tears tracked solemnly down his devastated face, unchecked. His anguished wife knelt at the tiny grave’s side, sobbing as if her heart would break.

Surrounding them were many redheads – Ron’s parents and the twins were amongst others he vaguely remembered from school, each locked in their grief, comforted as best they could by their husbands or wives.

The marker Ron reverently placed at the head of the grave read:

 

_Rosemary Lavender Weasley_

_Left our lives at seven months old_

_May you live in happiness in the next world_

_Mummy and Daddy will find you._

The lump in Draco’s throat was obscenely huge, but he managed to rasp out ‘They never got the money to take the baby to the Healer, did they?’

Derek’s head bowed down.

‘Weasley lost his job when Malfoy Enterprises foreclosed, of course.’

Another head bow.

Draco faced the grave and clenched his fists. ‘She died because of me,’ he said, the words as heavy as stone.

When he was ready to face Derek again, he wasn’t surprised to see him standing there with his horrible hand outstretched.

Presumably they’d be seeing Hermione, next.

Dear gods, Draco prayed with all his might. Please let her be okay.

 

*****

 

Hermione’s apartment seemed to be another quiet, cold place. No-one was in Hermione’s living room, not even the enormous cat-creature that took such an interest in Draco's toes.

Derek was already floating down the hallway, leaving behind a magical snail-trail of coldness and despair. Draco tried to avoid as much of it as possible as he followed.

Not that it mattered.

What he saw in Hermione’s bedroom turned him to ice.

 

*****

 

Hermione lay on her bed - gaunt, sallow and brittle. Her once-vibrant curls lay flat and matted against her head. Crookshanks curled up next to her vital organs, knowing, as a Kneazle/cat does, that his witch was hurting... and not getting better.

A lovely young Indian woman sat next to her, slowly brushing her hair and worrying her lip. Dark circles plagued her eyes.

‘Hermione,’ she tried to say firmly, ‘you know you have to eat. Just some soup. Some toast. _Please.’_

‘I – I can’t.’ Hermione’s voice croaked from the effort it took her to speak. ‘I’ll be sick. I know I will.’

Parvati made an impatient movement with the brush, but Hermione didn’t notice. ‘Dearest, it’s been three months since Draco died,’ she whispered. 

That was a thunderbolt to Draco’s heart.

‘You can’t keep mourning him forever’ –

‘I never told him I was sorry!’ Hermione wailed.

‘He ignored you. Put the business ahead of you,’ Parvati reminded her gently.

‘I wanted him to choose!’ Hermione whispered. ‘The business or me. He chose the business! I wanted him to see reason! I wanted him to realise how much I meant to him. But months, then a year passed...’ Her tiny voice cracked. ‘He didn’t want me.’

‘NO!’ Draco yelled, to no avail, of course. ‘You walked away! I thought you didn’t want _me!’_

‘But... I still loved him. I couldn’t stop.’ Hermione hugged Crooks a little closer. ‘Every day, I hoped he’d come to me. But he didn’t. And... just as I’d gathered up the courage to face him’ – Hermione breathed in, then out – ‘he died. At his precious bloody desk. Of a heart attack.’

There was silence, and Parvati showed her love for her friend by running the brush through Hermione’s hair, steadily and hypnotically. Knowing that now was not the time to talk.

Draco stood there, anguished, feeling like he was bolted to the floor. Unable to look away. Unable to help. Unable to touch her. Unable to tell his stubborn wife how much he loves her. And to eat some bloody soup!

Derek inspected his scythe.

Eventually, Parvati put the brush down and stood up. ‘Come on, Crooks,’ she said. ‘How about some tea?’

Reluctantly, Crooks jumped off the bed and padded after the food enabler.

When the bedroom door was respectfully closed, Hermione curled into herself, and let the tears that she’d held in, for Parvati’s benefit, flow from reddened, puffy eyes. They wracked her skeletal frame, and each sob cut Draco to his core.

‘I loved you...’ she cried.

Draco jumped. Could Hermione see him?

But her eyes were closed, her face twisted with sobs.

‘Why couldn’t you love me?’

‘I _do_ love you! Hermione! Listen to me!' He screamed the words as loud as he could, feeling the words wrench from his throat. But it was hopeless.

A fist clutched his heart and squeezed. He felt an unbearable pain, then his world went black.


	7. Chapter 7

Draco saw a light, which he knew wasn’t good news. He fought against it with all his might, but it pulled him ruthlessly in. With a Herculean effort, Draco succeeded in bursting free –

... only to discover that he and his bedsheets had tangled up together in a Gordian Knot, and the source of the light came from the stuff that was streaming in through his bedroom windows.

He looked around. Everything seemed the same as it was last night. Before his series of naked adventures that ripped him apart, to the very centre of his soul.

Draco wasn’t normally the sort that went for introspection. He’d never had to, before. But after last night, that... what did Luna call it? Ah, yes: his intrepid journey of self-discovery and misery, he searched inside himself and find quite a lot to keep him, er,  entertained.

Now, if he could only get himself free of his bedsheets... where’s his wand? Oh. It seems to have rolled under the bed.

‘SPRIGG!’

 

*****

 

Sprigg materialised in his bedroom, frightened half to death. ‘I’m here, Master!’ he gasped. He looked around frantically. ‘Where’s the fire?’

‘I’m tangled up in these sheets. Can you set me free?’

In the blink of an eye, it was done.

Sprigg looked at him cautiously. ‘Is the Master sure there is no fire that urgently needs putting out?’

‘Yes, the Master is sure,’ Draco replied jauntily, putting on his dressing gown and never being so grateful for the ability to wear clothes than he’s ever been before. Then a horrible thought struck him. ‘Sprigg! What day is it?’

Poor Sprigg. His Master has lost the plot. ‘Uh, it’s what the Muggles call Friday, sir,’ he ventured. ‘It's also Christmas Day.’

A little colour crept into Draco’s cheeks. ‘What year is it?’ he demanded.

Sprigg’s mouth fell open.  ‘I-it’s the same year as it was yesterday, sir. And the other three hundred and fifty-six days before that.’

Still, Draco wasn’t convinced. ‘What happened the middle of the night last night?’ he demanded.

‘You had a bad dream, sir, and I brought you cinnamon brandy to help you sleep...?’ Sprigg trailed off. This was a most odd conversation to be having with his Master at this hour of the morning. Did he put something in the drink that he shouldn’t have?

Draco beamed. ‘Yes!’ he cried, punching the air.

Sprigg grabbed hold of the bedside table to keep himself upright. Most odd, indeed.

‘Right!’ Draco clapped his hands together. ‘We’ve got a lot to do this morning, Sprigg. I need you to temporarily acquire me all the owls you can lay your hands on. But first, I need a good breakfast.’

The faithful retainer could barely believe his massive ears. ‘At once, Master!’ he said, rallying speedily. ‘Would Master prefer breakfast in bed?’

'Oh, no!’ Draco cried, heading into the bathroom. ‘Tell the kitchen elves I want a full smorgasbord of everything they can rustle up – I’m feeling peckish.’

Tears threatened to gush from Sprigg’s eyes. ‘Yes, Master!’ he warbled, and popped off to tell the kitchen elves the good news. The could all have a jolly wonderful sob together.

 

*****

 

**Christmas Day (now that Sprigg’s confirmed it)**

It was the usual chaotic mess at The Burrow, but with lots more tinsel and mistletoe thrown in. One could barely move inside the rickety house for fear of accidentally tripping over a toddler and landing in the lap of an adult. Even baby Rosemary looked the part in a pretty green gown, and sat quietly on her mother’s lap, watching the energy pass her by with sleepy eyes. Lavender, however, could barely summon the energy to yank her hair into a wonky ponytail and pull on jeans and a sweater. Ron was just as exhausted, but did his best to join in the mayhem.

Just as they were all sitting down at the table, ready to tear into Molly’s unsurpassable Christmas luncheon, an enormous owl soared down from the heavens and rapped on one of the kitchen windows with its beak. Percy, who was nearest, got up from the table and relieved the owl of its package in exchange for a handful of owl treats. The poor thing looked like it had flown a marathon.

He looked at the name on the package, which seemed heavy for its size. ‘It’s for you, Ron.’

Torn between curiosity and tearing into his mother’s roast duck, he accepted the parcel from Percy with a ‘Ta, mate’ and undid the parcel’s bindings.

A letter sat on top. It had the Malfoy seal.

His stomach clenched with the beginnings of a baby ulcer as he opened it. If that bastard wants me to work on Christmas bloody day... he grizzled under his breath... He ripped it open, and began to read.

Then he froze.

‘Ron?’ Lavender asked, concerned at his pale face and foodless mouth. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘L-listen to this,’ Ron stuttered.

 

_Dear Ronald,_

_it has come to my attention that I have completely neglected to discuss your career prospects with Malfoy Enterprises. As Administrative Assistant, you do an excellent job of looking after my affairs – so much so, I have restructured your job and have put you in charge of administrative affairs for Head Office._

_Naturally, this is beyond the scope of an Administrative Assistant, so I have promoted you to Administration Manager. With that comes an increase in salary. I have backdated this salary increase to the beginning of this year, which is enclosed with this letter._

_I have also decided to shut Malfoy Enterprises down until after the New Year. Employees will receive full pay for that time. When you return, I would appreciate your advice in helping make Malfoy Enterprises a better place to work._

_Wishing you and your family a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year,_

_Draco Malfoy_

_Chief Executive Wizard_

_Malfoy Enterprises._

‘What the? – gimme that!’ George cried, and snatched the letter from Ron’s numb fingers.

‘George!’ came Molly’s stern rebuke from the other end of the magically-enlarged table, where she was encumbered with grandchildren _._

Ron peered into the rest of the parcel, reached in, and pulled out a handful of Galleons. They trickled through his fingers. The entire table was agog.

‘Fucking – ow!’ yelped Bill, who received a fork to his hand by Fleur, his wife (for swearing in front of the children).

Ron silently pushed the box to Lavender. She took a look inside, and gasped. ‘There’s thousands of Galleons in there!’ she whispered. Hope flared in her heart, but –

‘This isn’t a joke is, it?’ she asked Ron fearfully.

He shook his head and pointed to the Malfoy seal. ‘That’s legit,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen it often enough to know for sure.’

Lavender and Ron looked at each other, then at their poor little baby.

Tears formed in Lavender’s eyes. ‘It’s a miracle,’ she whispered.

All at once, every Weasley and Weasley-in-law whooped and hollered and carried on like crazy. Decorum be damned – Molly was front and centre, kicking up her heels and dancing a jig with a jubilant Fred. ‘There’s a time for manners,’ she cried out, ‘and there’s a time to party!’

The kiddies cheered. Grandma’s gone crazy!

 

*****

 

Draco felt a weight lift off his shoulders when he saw the last of the owls fly off to his employees. All carried a letter explaining about their sudden holiday leave and the promise that no wages would be deducted for it. He couldn’t quite bring himself to apologise for being the world’s biggest bastard of a boss, but he hoped to make up for it, one way or another.

Now he faced his most stomach-churning challenge.

Dropping in to see the wife.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little lemon...

Hermione had returned from a Christmas morning with her parents, which was quite lovely until Mum expressed a throwaway hope that she’d brought someone with her for them to meet. Then things got a little tense, shall we say.

Now, she was lying on her couch in the light of a flickering fire, with a good book in her hands and Crooks splayed comfortably (for him) across her chest. A glass of wine lay within easy reach on the floor.

A lovely way to spend a Christmas day afternoon. And she would not move from this position upon threat of death, destruction or the end of the world!

There was a knock at the door.

Of course, Hermione seethed, putting the book down, relocating a ruffled Crooks to the couch and taking a large gulp of wine in the hopes it would cool her temper. Since someone was knocking at the door and not poking their head through the Floo, it had to be a Muggle, so she quickly checked that her apartment seemed adequately normal to humans, she yanked open the door.

Her mouth fell open in speechless astonishment.

 

*****

 

There she was.

Dressed in leggings, fluffy socks and a comfy, over-sized jumper that Draco vaguely thought might have been his, once, her hair falling down from the chopsticks she’d wound through her hair; Draco was captivated.

Didn’t help his nerves any, though.

She seemed momentarily struck dumb, so he said ‘Hello, love. Merry Christmas.’

Hermione blinked, then stood to the side to let him in.

He stood in the centre of her living room, still in his Muggle coat, hat and scarf, unsure if he’d be taking liberties by removing them.

On the couch, Crooks opened an eye, looked Draco up and down, and went back to sleep.

Meanwhile, Hermione had recovered her powers of speech, and was peeved to find herself at a disadvantage, fashion-wise. Of all the daydreams she’d entertained about seeing Draco again, she never thought she’d be in her crappy, comfy clothes she schlepped around the apartment in.

While he still looked as beautiful as ever, damn him to Hades.

She dredged up one of the speeches she’d played out in her head, over and over, in the fairy tales she made for herself. For those times when she missed him so much, she could feel it like a physical presence.

‘It’s been a while, Draco,’ she said frostily, standing behind the couch. Keeping her distance. ‘I’m surprised you know where I live.’

Me too, Draco thought.

‘It has been a while, yes,’ Draco agreed in a low voice. ‘You’ve become even lovelier with time.’

Hermione scoffed, pulling at the jumper. ‘I’m practically in rags, compared to you.’

‘It’s not the clothes, love.’ he insisted, his clear eyes steady on hers. ‘It never has been. It’s just... you. Every part of you that makes you... you.’

He laughed harshly, scuffing his foot on the floor. ‘No doubt I sound like some pompous so-called lady’s man like Cormac McClaggen,’ he muttered. Then he looked up. ‘Sorry. I came here with something to say, and I’ve botched it. Can I start again?’

Draco said sorry? Did she hear that?

‘Uh, sure,’ she replied, nonplussed.

Draco swallowed, and took a breath. ‘Hermione,’ he began. ‘I’ve been a foul, self-centred, self-pitying arsehole since my parents died, and I thought the best way to honour their memories was to take Malfoy Enterprises and make it a world leader. I shut you out, because I couldn’t bear the thought of going through such agony again if something happened to you. I hardened my heart towards you until there was nothing left but ice and ink. But now I know I was wrong.’

Hermione wrapped her shaking hands around her body. This must be one of her dreams, surely? The Draco she walked away from would rather prance up and down Diagon Alley in a pink tutu and fairy wings than bare his soul like this.

Draco stepped forward uncertainly. He coughed to clear that persistent frog that kept setting up residence in his throat. ‘I’m sorry for the way I treated you, love,’ he whispered. ‘I love you. With all my heart. I’ve never stopped. I would give anything to be with you again. One way or another. If you would consider a reconciliation, I’d be the happiest wizard in the world. I promise you I’ve changed my ways. I’ve thought long and very hard about it, believe me.’

Hermione stood still, her eyes like saucers. She opened her mouth – then closed it. And kept it closed.

Well, shit.

Draco’s heart sank. Maybe all those spirits got the wrong end of the stick? Maybe you can love someone, miss them like mad, but know that ultimately, you’re better off without them? As Hermione undoubtedly was.

He let out a shaky breath. He had to go before he embarrassed himself and did something stupid. Like bawl his eyes out.

‘I understand,’ he croaked. ‘It’s been too long. I’m sorry, love. Um. Hermione.’

He crossed to the Floo. He was taking the fast way home.

His hand was hovering over the Floo powder bowl when a force assaulted him and shoved him out of the Floo’s path.

Trying to keep his balance, he grabbed on to a soft jumper, wayward curls, and the smooth, warm skin of his wife.

Who was looking up at him fiercely, with tear-filled eyes.

‘You’re not allowed to go yet,’ she quavered. ‘I want to hear you apologise to me again. And again and again.’

He drew her into his arms and hugged her so tight she squeaked. ‘I will do anything,’ he promised, loving the way her hair tickled his nose again. ‘Anything you want.’

They held each other in silence, in the company of a canny Kneazle/cat, whose sleeping face looked like it was grinning.

 

*****

 

**Hours later**

**Hermione’s living room**

Draco looked at the time. It was getting late. They’d sat and talked for hours. Some of it made them sad. Some of it made them (mostly Hermione) mad. But all of it was cathartic, and necessary, if they wanted to try again.

And the consensus on that was: they did. Slowly. One step at a time.

In the midst of the talking, Hermione poured some wine, and made them a simple supper from pantry ingredients. The wine was sipped, and supper mostly eaten, hampered a little by slightly nervous stomachs.

Eventually...

‘I should probably go,’ Draco said regretfully, his grey gaze on his wife.

She met it, and nodded slowly. ‘Yeah,’ she said, also regretfully. ‘You probably should.’

‘Um... may I use your Floo?’ Draco asked.

‘Of course,’ Hermione replied softly.

‘Before I go...’

‘Yes?’

Draco had never felt so nervous. ‘May I kiss you goodnight?’

Heat bloomed in Hermione’s cheeks. ‘That would be nice,’ she agreed.

Draco shifted closer to her on the couch, ousting an annoyed Crooks who had taken up the role of chaperone by parking his orange bod between them.

Now they were next to each other. Their breath mingled together. Draco looked at Hermione’s beautiful lips, slightly parted and pink with wine.

He slowly closed in, and touched his lips with hers.

               

*****

 

**Ten minutes later**

**Hermione’s bedroom**

A trail of clothes from the living room and down the hallway marked the rather premature end of their commitment to taking things slowly.

‘Wait!’ Draco dragged in a breath as he joined Hermione on her bed. ‘We’re supposed to be taking things slowly!’

Hermione pulled his bottom lip into her mouth and tugged. ‘Okay,’ she panted. ‘We’ll take it slowly tomorrow.’

Draco pulled back, worshipping his lovely, naked wife, sprawled on her bed with a gleam in her eye he fondly remembered from earlier days. ‘Are you absolutely sure?’ he asked.

She grinned, and parted the junction of her legs with her delicate fingers. ‘Why don’t you check and see?’

With a raised eyebrow, Draco trailed his long fingers across her torso and hip, making her shiver. He brushed her clitoris with the lightest of feather touches, eliciting a gasp. Then he sank a finger inside the very core of her.

Sainted Slytherin’s singlets!

‘Bloody hell, woman!’ he gasped, stroking his finger inside her. Oh, wet, tight, heated bliss...

‘Are you sure I’m sure, now?’ Hermione gasped, bucking her hips.

‘Without a doubt,’ Draco affirmed, pulling his finger out and sliding it into his mouth. His eyes rolled back in his head. Gods, he missed her taste.

He lined up his body above hers, the head of his erection nudging her entrance. ‘Um, love...’

‘What?’ she moaned. Why isn’t his gorgeous cock inside her yet?

‘I haven’t had sex with anyone since you,’ he confessed.

Really? Hermione’s heart fluttered. She presumed he’d been off man-whoring with absolute regularity all this time. But – ‘Why did you tell me that now?’ she asked, touching his cheek with her hand.

‘Because, once I enter your body, I’m probably not going to last even a minute.’

Hermione laughed. ‘Wanna bet?’ she taunted, grinning.

Draco grinned back, and thrust inside her.

 

*****

 

Forty-seven seconds.

Draco won. And lost.

Fortunately, they decided not to take it slowly the next day.

Or the day after that.

Or for forever and always.  

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed my re-hashing of Charles Dicken’s A Christmas Carol. Keep safe over the festive season, and see you in 2019! 
> 
> Meri Kirihimete me ngā mihi o te tau hou ki a koutou katoa (Christmas and New Years greetings in the Māori language) from New Zealand.
> 
> Yours,  
> NeverNik x


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